Blood of the Tranquil
by wangxiuming
Summary: In the tumult of a city on the brink of war, an apprentice desperately tries to escape Tranquility.


_They say Tranquility is something to be feared._

_The irony is that once you are made Tranquil, fear is no more than a fading shadow._

The Templars came for me as the sun fell. Four warriors for one apprentice. They found me in my room, a dagger in one hand and blood pouring from my wrist. Perhaps they thought I was experimenting with blood magic. All I wanted was to rob them of their Rite.

"Maleficar!"

The word spat out of the lead Templar's mouth as she charged forward, sword aimed at my breast. My dagger fell to the stone floor with a clang. I bowed my head and steeled my resolve.

The sound of swords clashing echoed against stone walls, followed by a familiar voice.

"Knight-Commander!"

A man stood between the woman's blade and my release, his own blade holding hers back in defiance. He bore templar armaments and finery, the sigil of his Order emblazoned proudly across his metal cuirass.

Richart, my love.

There was fear in his eyes. It was the same fear that had nestled deep within me. His trepidation was a mirror to mine. We knew we were about to lose something we could never get back.

_Once you are Tranquil, loss is no more than a fragile whisper._

The Knight-Commander's voice punctuated the thickness in the air. "Stand aside and I will overlook this act of insubordination."

"There has been no magic here, Commander. Surely you can see that?" asked Richart.

"What I see is a maleficar that must be eliminated before any more of the Circle become corrupted!"

"If word of this gets out, the mages will believe we have forgone even the Rite of Tranquility in favor of killing them outright!" said Richart. "There will be rebellion!"

"You have always been too cautious. Too afraid. We are the Circle's shepherd. When one of the flock strays from the Maker, we can not hesitate to purge it from our midst!"

Richart looked to his comrades, hoping for aid but finding none. Finally he spoke, soft yet resolute. "We should at least inform the First Enchanter. This one was to be taken in for the Rite. How would it look if we brought in a corpse instead?"

He was trying to save me. A templar trying to save a mage. Maker help us.

I knew he meant well. Still, he did not understand the horror of what he was doing. To save my life now, only so I could lose myself to Tranquility? He could not know the despair that was to have all semblance of self be wiped away. To have your mind stripped of desires, emotions, _passion._

_Once you are Tranquil, passion is no more than a forgotten memory._

The Knight-Commander looked from him to me. She grabbed me by the scruff of my collar, pulling me to my feet. Her eyes were maddened as she stared into my soul. For a moment, I thought she would gut me then and there.

But then, she turned away. "You ... are right. This is all the evidence I need to have the entire tower searched. I have always known that this Circle was haven to maleficarum. The mages can deny it no longer!"

"With me." The Knight-Commander jerked her heads towards the remaining templars. "Let us go pay the First Enchanter a visit."

One of them asked, "What about the mage?"

"This one will undergo the Rite of Tranquility as planned. Prepare yourself," she said to me. "I will have the Knight-Captain come to collect you shortly."

I fell to my knees. I tried to cry out, tried to protest, but the words jumbled themselves and withered upon my tongue. My eyes begged them, "Let me go. Let me die." My pleas went unseen and unheard.

"I'll stand watch until he arrives," said Richart.

The Knight-Commander gave him a meaningful stare before leaving with the others in tow. Only Richart and I remained. He knelt down besides me, unwrapping gauze to bandage my wound. I pushed him away, lunging for my dagger. A deft kick from his boot sent it spiralling into the hall, out of my reach.

"Do you know what you have done?" I cried, finally having found my tongue.

His expression told me he was surprised at my reaction. "Saved your life. What were you doing with that dagger? Have you lost your mind?"

I laughed, but it was not from joy. It was cold, cheerless, and I shuddered inside even as the noise escaped my lips. "What do you think will happen when they make me Tranquil?"

He fell silent for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me, lingering. "What would you have me do? Just stand by and let you be killed? Let you kill yourself?

"Better here and now, by my choice."

_Once you are Tranquil, choice is no more than an illusion._

Richart shook his head. He knelt down besides me, clasping his gauntleted hands over mine. "No," he said. "I won't let you give everything up so easily! You can still try to escape, or -"

"This is my only escape!" I said. "With the city in this state, with the way the Knight-Commander has been _acting_. Even with your help, we wouldn't be able to take two steps out of the Circle!"

"So you would rather die here? How can you -" He cut himself off mid-sentence.

I looked at him. His face was a portrait of anguish. I saw my hand reach out to him, to stroke his cheek. It was prickly to the touch. My hand trembled and he brought his own palm up to steady mine.

Would I ever know this sensation again? Would I remember?

"Let me go. Please."

Suddenly, his arms were wrapped around me so tight, I could barely breathe. He whispered in my ear. "You're so selfish. Can't you see the Rite is better than losing your life?"

"There will be nothing left, afterwards, nothing of me," I said.

He shook his head. "You will live. That makes all the difference."

"What difference is there between being dead and being a lifeless shell?"

"Death is final. The Rite is not. They may seem the same to you, but to me, the Rite means we can still … that I can still have _hope._"

_Hope is no more than a fleeting dream._

For a second, I almost believed him. Still, I knew the inescapable truth. "There is no way to come back from Tranquility."

"No one has found a way yet. That does not mean there is none." He cradled my face in his hands. "Please don't give up. Please."

My breath came and went in ragged gasps as I looked into his eyes. I could not deny him.

He pressed our foreheads together and whispered, "I will find you in that shell. No matter how deep I have to search. I will find you."

I wept, knowing it would be the last time I would ever do so.

* * *

><p>The Knight-Captain came for us shortly after. If he noticed anything unusual, he made no comment. Ushering us out of my quiet cell, he urged me forward with the pommel of his sword.<p>

The room they brought me to was not unfamiliar, though I had never seen it from within. All the mages avoided it. Those who did enter never came out the same. I knew it would be the same with me.

The interior was smaller, plainer than I had imagined. There were no torture racks, no chains or manacles. Just an empty stone room. A fitting preamble to what I would soon become.

Templars lined the chamber, along with a few mages. I recognized one of the senior enchanters; she had always liked me, despite my lack of ability. Her eyes could not meet mine. I saw them fill with regret.

Richart put his hand on my shoulder, let it linger. It was a small comfort, the last I would ever experience. I cherished it.

They brought forth the brand. The metal at the end had been coated with lyrium and molded into the shape of a sun. They placed it over a flaming brazier; the metal grew hot, blazing blue.

I wanted to run. I wanted a way out. I wondered if I could wrest away one of the Templar's swords. One of the mage's staves. My mind played scenario after scenario until the brand was already upon me and it was too late. They pressed the lyrium against my forehead, and I screamed.

Our eyes met one last time.

I felt the earth tremor. A blinding crimson light exploded in the distance. The veil shattered and everything turned white.

_- As you have not forsaken Hope, know that Hope will not forsake you. -_

* * *

><p>I woke to the sound of distant screaming. The cries of men and women all around me filled my ears, but I heard them as through a wall. I could discern the panic that filled the voices, could see the chaos as templar and mage scurried about wildly. I alone remained unmoving.<p>

I found my eyes wandering the room. They were looking for something. Somebody. It took me a second to remember who. _Richart. _He was not here.

Why was I even looking for him? I forced myself to stop. It was illogical to concern myself with one man when the world seemed to be crumbling around me. I concentrated on the streaming words echoing through the stone walls.

"The Chantry! The Chantry has been destroyed! The Grand Cleric has been slain!"

"That's impossible! Who would dare -?"

"Captain! Word from Lowtown! The Knight-Commander has invoked the Right of Annulment!"

"What?"

I saw the female enchanter bring her staff forward uncertainly. She spoke, voice shaking uncontrollably. "W-wait … t-this isn't right! It wasn't us!"

The Templars did not care. Two of them advanced on her, swords drawn. She swung her staff in a wide arc and a gout of flame coalesced into existence, only to sputter out as the templars brought their own power to bear. One of them lunged forward, sword aimed straight for her heart. She whirled, and pieces of mortar broke from the ground and walls to wrap around her in protective coat. Metal met stone with a terrible clash.

"What are you doing?"

Someone grabbed me from behind, dragging me backwards. I realized my arms and hands were outstretched in front of me, aimed at the Templars attacking the mage. Powerless as I had become, I had tried to help her.

I did not understand. I felt no loyalty to her. I felt nothing.

But then, why did I try to help?

"The brand - it's incomplete!" the templar holding me back shouted. He lifted his blade above his head, preparing to plunge it into my chest.

"That one's powerless!" shouted the Knight-Captain as he dodged a blast of lightning. "Don't waste your breath, help me with these! Tranquil! Return to your quarters!"

I obeyed, or so I thought. My legs took me out of the chamber, but they did not step towards my quarters. They took me down, towards the courtyard. Screams echoed from every direction. My eyes wandered, searching faces among the living and the dead. Dread welled up within me, terror clutched my heart, panic -

… but I was not supposed to feel.

My eyes found their quarry in the Circle's main hall. Richart. Why was I searching for him, when caution told me seeking shelter would have been more prudent? Why did relief fill my bones when our eyes met?

A woman's voice rang out from behind me. "Mage scum!""

Richartscreamed, "S_top!_"

It happened before I had time to react. Metal piercing metal. Metal piercing flesh. A desperate scream reverberated through the hall. My scream.

I lunged forward to catch him in my arms. It did not matter that I did not understand why. It was not emotion. It was instinct.

"My love," he whispered. Drops of water splashed onto his chin. I tasted salt on my lips. He looked up at me and said, with a smile, "I found you. I knew … I knew I would. I found you."

I watched the light go out in his eyes.

I whirled around and charged. The Templar must have been in shock; she didn't react until I had tackled her to the ground. She was laughing. I did not know why, but I wanted to burn the flesh from her bones. I wrapped my hands around her head and summoned all my power.

Nothing came.

"You - you're Tranquil!" She laughed. Again and again, she laughed. "A Tranquil, in love with a Templar?"

She pushed me off her form with ease, knocking me off balance. Before I had time to react, she slammed my body against a wall, and her sword into my hand. An hour ago, I would have screamed. Now, I felt nothing. She twisted my head to face hers. "What can you hope to do, Tranquil? You are empty. You are impotent."

She was wrong.

_- Hope shall not forsake you. -_

"There are other sources of magic besides the Fade," I said as I turned to glance at my bleeding palm. "The Rite has not denied me them all."

In her eyes, I saw fear.

From my life's blood, I drew power beyond any I had ever experienced. Blood magic. Reason told me this was wrong, that it was too dangerous. I did not care. But there were no whispers of temptation or demons come to corrupt me. Only my will. It exploded forward, sending the woman hurtling backwards across the hall. I pulled her sword from my wound, then pointed my bloody palm at her battered figure.

Channeling my life force, I conjured a swirling sphere, a maelstrom of pure energy centered within her. Her eyes widened in shock as my spell took hold of her form. She screamed as her body twisted unnaturally, her armor crunching into her flesh, her bones bent out of shape. Her mouth was contorted beyond the ability to speak, but her eyes begged me to stop.

I felt nothing when she died, her expression of terror frozen forever.

I released my power and raced back towards Richart's unmoving form. He was dead. I closed his eyes with my good hand. He seemed to be at peace. Tranquil.

The door to the main hall was open. Outside, chaos had swallowed the entire city. Logic told me I should remain. That I should wait for further instructions from my superiors. Somehow, it did not seem like the right thing to do.

Richart would have wanted the person I was before to live. To escape. It made sense to do as he wished. With the city overrun with pandemonium, with my new-found power … I would finally leave the Circle behind forever.

_Hope_ had become real.


End file.
